


It Takes a Certain Kind of Gentleman

by MajorTrouble



Series: Team Bingo Bongo for BIKM Bingo! [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BIKM Bingo Fill - #31 Prickly, Feelings, First Kiss, I may have taken it slightly out of context, Jaskier is a Smoother Operator, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping, bachelorette parties, gratuitious use of the word Undulation, it's fine, stripper!Lambert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: Prickly:1 : full of or covered with prickles2 : marked by prickling : stinging3a : troublesome, vexatiousb : easily irritated
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: Team Bingo Bongo for BIKM Bingo! [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126874
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	It Takes a Certain Kind of Gentleman

It wasn’t that Lambert hated his job - far from it. Being employed at the Prickly Pear was, if not fantastic, at least decent. The owners paid him a fair wage. He got to pick his own music and costumes, and keep all his tips. Even the other strippers were companionable, despite his surly attitude. So, it wasn’t that he hated his job.

Lambert hated bachelorette parties. He was aware that they brought in the most amount of money - any group of extremely intoxicated people was easily parted from their cash. However, as he liked to tell Aiden, Eskel, hell anyone who would listen, it was the principle of the thing. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Geralt had asked him once as they talked - complained - loudly in the back office of Eskel’s bar. It was Lambert’s place of choice to pontificate about what he deemed a part of his job that was beneath him. 

“Technically, given your profession, there are a lot of things _beneath_ you -” Aiden had started before Lambert had chased him out of the office, slamming the door in his face. Geralt just huffed a breath, which in Geralt-speak was almost a full-bellied laugh. 

Lambert flopped back down on the couch that took up an entire wall in the cramped office space. He had no idea how it had gotten there and wasn’t curious enough to ask. “Look.” He flapped his arm up in the air over his head, waving it about to make his point. “I am an entertainer. I entertain. Bachelorette parties just involve a bunch of horny drunk women who can’t keep their hands to themselves, pawing and spilling their drinks all over you while you try to do your routine.” He let his arm drop back down to his chest, scowling at the beer in his other hand like it had personally offended him. “It’s unprofessional.” 

Geralt had nodded sagely and changed the subject.

Unfortunately, part of working at the Prickly Pear was the occasional group of giggling, sticky-handed women who requested a private show. Thankfully, they rarely chose him. The scars running over his eye and down his arms and legs looked amazing picked out by the black lights, but up close were a bit too real for most of the clientele. Lambert chose his costumes to accentuate his musculature and deft hands. Pieces fell away to reveal the wide planes of his shoulders and abs, but strategically covered other areas that he’d rather keep to himself. 

He was comfortable with his body, but he didn’t want to make others nervous.

Tonight had been mostly quiet. Tuesdays were slow. No rush of the weekend, no mid-week pick-me-up to keep trudging on till Friday. Lambert was waiting tables, or at least pretending to. There weren’t enough people for him to actually be fetching drinks for, but wandering around with a tray in his hands at least made him look busy. He’d just decided to disappear into the dressing room for a little break when the front doors opened, letting the night air spill in along with a conga line of bright-eyed women, all clutching at each other and giggling. 

Lambert rolled his eyes. _Fuck. Just my fucking luck_. He was one of two male performers on for the night. He hoped against hope that they wouldn’t ask for a private show. Maybe he could get through a Tuesday with his dignity intact. 

The group of women - still giggling, and hushing each other with exaggerated gestures - went over to the bar and spoke with the barman there, who gestured to the very back of the establishment and Lambert bit his lip to not swear again. The VIP section. 

_Fantastic. Maybe I can get fired in the next ten minutes,_ he thought as he watched the group stumble over. His boss materialized out of thin air, speaking lowly to the guest of honour - she of the tilted tiara and messy sash - before accepting a black credit card and leading them all into the shadows of the exclusive part of the Prickly Pear. 

It was then that he noticed the tall, dark-haired man trailing along behind the women. Broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, he had his hands clasped behind his back, looking highly amused by the whole production. Lambert watched him saunter after the entourage, eyes firmly attached to the way the other man’s ass moved in the overly tight black jeans he was wearing. 

Just as he realized what he was doing, his eyes snapped up and met the depthless blue of the man he’d been ogling. Lambert’s eyes widened as he felt the flush bloom across his cheeks at being caught. The other man simply smiled and _winked_ of all things, before turning and disappearing after his friends. 

_Shit,_ Lambert thought, dropping his tray on the end of the bar and practically tripping over his own feet in his hurry to make it to the dressing rooms. _Oh fuck_. He threw himself down in front of his mirror, casting a critical eye over his makeup and touching up the dark blue eyeshadow. He re-applied mascara, re-fluffed his hair, and was just stepping into a frayed pair of red jean shorts when Tissaia found him. 

His boss looked him over with a critical eye. She pinched his cheeks, adjusted the ties on the front of the silk shirt draped over his shoulder and stood back. 

“You’ll do,” she decided. “Go see to the party. They’re in the big room, at the back, you know the one.”

“Fuck really? I hate bachelorette parties. You know I fucking do.” Even Lambert could hear the whine in his voice.

Tissaia just smirked at him. “I don’t care. It’s good money and Coen is too… stiff for them.”

Lambert smirked despite himself. “Fine. I want a bottle of Jack on my table after.” 

She nodded and then stepped back, tipping her head pointedly at the door. He blew out a breath and then headed through the maze of hallways to the very back of the club. It was nearly pitch black behind the set of VIP rooms, and he found the door as much by touch as sight. Just as he put his fingers in the handle, “Naughty Girl” started over the hidden speakers in the room and he closed his eyes, swearing he would get back at Tissaia if it killed him. 

Schooling his face in a sultry mask, he slunk into the room, timing each step with the beat of the song. The women - predictably - started screaming almost immediately. He ignored them, sliding easily out of their grip as he strutted around the room, going through his routine with hardly a thought to each part. 

His leg shot out and he spun on his heel, throwing his head back, baring the line of his throat to the single bright light above him. His hands ran down his chest in a slow drag, gripping the fabric and pulling it back slowly and then all at once in time with the song, letting it trail down his arms and drop to the floor. Gripping the edge of the jeans, he rocked his hips back and forth, eliciting more whoops from the women as he popped the buttons one by one and pulled the tight material down over the curve of his ass, bending forward almost in half before looking up, catching the eye of the lady of the hour and smirking. 

She grinned back and gulped at her drinking, fanning herself with an exaggerated aire. He turned around, flexing his thighs and back before bending at the waist again, finally dropping the shorts and letting her get a look at the words written across his tight-fitting briefs. 

“Holy Matrimony” was printed in white block letters over the pink garment and he grinned again at the outrageous laughter that sounded behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder but instead of the bride-to-be his eyes snagged on the only other man in the room. He was lounging back against the cushioned seating, seeming completely at ease at the display in front of him. Lambert felt his breath stutter at the grin the blue-eyed man gave him before he managed to tear his eyes away again. 

_What the fuck?_ his mind supplied as he continued his dance, undulating his hips and spinning as the song came to its conclusion. He endured their breathless adulations and the bills pressed into his palms - and shoved into his briefs - before slipping back out the door, heading back to his dressing room. 

He wiped the sweat off himself with quick, efficient movements, before putting his regular black shorts and tight t-shirt on and peaking out into the main area of the club. There were a few more patrons sitting in clumps around the stage now, and the girls were in the middle of a complicated performance. As he watched, the bachelorette party stumbled out of their private booth to a large table by the stage to observe. They were still loud and giggling, but focused on the stage now. 

The other man wasn’t with them. 

Lambert felt a tingle chase itself up his spine. Quickly, he ran back through the corridor to the hidden door to the VIP room pausing to listen before pushing it open slowly.

The blue-eyed man was still lounging in the same spot and greeted him with a languid smile as he entered. He lifted a flute of what must have been champagne before taking a sip and setting on the table beside him.

“I’d wondered if you’d come back,” he said and his voice sent another tingle through Lambert. It was rich and melodic and Lambert wanted to drown in it.

_What the fuck is wrong with you, Lamb? You don’t even know this guy._ “You didn’t join the rest of the girls. Couldn’t leave you lonely,” he answered. _Ooo smooth_ , he congratulated himself. _Also, super lame. Good job._

The other man snickered. “I’m Jaskier. Would you like to give me a private show?”

Lambert licked his lips. “Ya. Sure.” 

He started slowly, moving to the sound of the music he could hear from the front of the club. Feeling self-conscious, he closed his eyes, focusing instead on the beat and pulses, running his hands over his chest and thighs, twisting his hips and twirling in tempo. 

Hands gripped his waist and he stopped, opening his eyes to see Jaskier standing in front of him, grin confident as he raised a hand to trail his fingers over Lambert’s lips. 

“You’re a beauty,” he breathed. His eyes flicked up to meet Lambert’s as he moved closer. “Can I kiss you?”

Lambert's mouth was suddenly so dry, he had to lick his lips. Jaskier gasped softly as Lambert’s tongue touched his fingertips. “Ya,” he managed, and he was pulled forward. 

It was sweet and soft, a slow slide of lips, before Jaskier slid his hands down to his ass, gripping him hard and deepening the kiss at the same time. Lambert whimpered quietly - something he would absolutely deny later - and opened his mouth at the first flick of Jaskier’s tongue against his lips. The other man groaned appreciatively, delving into his mouth to taste him. 

He was panting when Jaskier pulled back, his gaze wicked as he stepped away. “Hmm, I knew you’d taste sweet.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and tucked it into the front of Lambert’s too-tight shorts. “Call me sometime.”

Lambert watched him go, mind in a fog of want and arousal. _What the fuck was that??_

He was so fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank-you for reading!! I am always grateful for your love and support <3


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